by Jade Lee
She straightened, liking the burning intensity in his eyes. He stood in front of her, but his fingers were deft as he unhooked the buttons down the back of her gown. She felt the bodice loosen, hold for a moment on her breasts, then slowly slip away. Her sleeves caught on her elbows, the rest of the fabric stopped at her waist. And now, finally, she could smile seductively at him as he stroked a reverent hand across the edge of her shift.
“How can you look at me with awe?” she whispered. “You have already seen everything.”
“I never tire of it.”
She smiled and allowed her gown to fall to the floor. She stood before him in just her shift and stockings. “But what about you? When can I see all of you?”
He visibly flinched at her question, but she refused to let him hide. She reached out and gently pulled his shirt from his pants. He swallowed in anxiety but did not stop her.
“There are more scars, angel. And the whole is frightening.”
“I think I shall kiss every one of your scars,” she said as she pulled his shirt free.
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Every one? That will take a very long time.”
“Every single one,” she vowed as she discarded his shirt.
She looked at him then, saw the dark tan of his skin and the crisscross of white scars. There were ridges from deep wounds and puckered round shapes from burns. But they were all Kit, and they did not frighten her.
She trailed her fingers along the crescent-shaped wound, starting at his collarbone and curving around his torso to end in his belly. She pressed her lips to that one first. She felt him gasp, and his body trembled. His arms came around her but more to steady himself than her. She kissed it again, a little lower this time, using her tongue to stroke the white line. His breath rasped harsh above her, and his hands tightened. Then he abruptly jerked her backward.
“Kit?”
“Do you know what you kiss?”
“You,” she answered.
He shook his head. “That is my name. My slave name,” he rasped. Then pulled her into his bedroom, but not to his large bed. Instead, he took her to the dressing table mirror. She had to wait while he lit a candelabra, but his intent was clear. Once there was light, he made her look at his reflection.
“My name was Slave. Later, I became Head Slave. But we were all slaves, and so sometimes they would call me Moon Slave. Not Kit. Not even Englishman. But this. Moon Slave because of the shape of this scar.”
“How did it happen?”
“That first night after I left Jeremy. I went on up top and joined the fight.” He snorted. “I was such a fool! I had no skill with knives and no defense against trained killers.”
“This wound should have killed you.”
He nodded. “They had a surgeon of sorts. They would have left me for dead, but one of the sailors told them I was an English lord. Said to contact Michael for my ransom. It’s the only reason I wasn’t left to die.”
“That was fortunate.”
He arched a brow. “You think so?”
She nodded, coming around to face him. She left her hand on his chest, then slowly trailed it down around his torso toward his flat belly. “I want you alive, not dead. Moon Slave or Kit, I cannot imagine never knowing you. When will you believe that you do not disgust me?” She smiled and quickly nipped at his nose. “You do not even frighten me.”
He caught her around the waist then. She hadn’t even separated from his face more than a half inch when he grabbed her waist and lifted her off her feet. Two steps farther and he was half setting, half dropping her on the bed. She laughed as she bounced, but then quickly sobered when he did not follow her down. Instead, he looked at her with eyes that burned.
“Kit?”
“This is your first time. I need to be gentle.”
“I am a strong woman.”
His lips curved slightly. “Yes, I know. That is one of many things I adore about you.” He stroked her face, then allowed his hand to move across the width her shoulder. “You will not break easily.”
“I will not break at all,” she returned.
“Really?” he challenged. Then his hand trailed down her arm, past her elbow, until he cupped her hand in his. Then he slowly but firmly guided her hand to his groin. He pressed her hand to him, letting her shape him as she had earlier. She hadn’t thought it possible, but he felt larger than ever.
“Do you understand the mechanics?”
“Do you love me?” The words were out before she even realized what she asked. Her thoughts were on his organ, hot and hard beneath her fingertips. But her mind, obviously, was thinking about something very different.
“I . . .” He swallowed.
“No, never mind,” she said, suddenly embarrassed. Some courtesan she was, asking about love! Everyone knew that there was no love between a man and his mistress.
He knelt down before her and gently turned her face to his. “I think of you all the time, Maddy. By day, I plan how I can see you. At night, I close my eyes and lose myself in you. Eventually, I fall asleep. And then, angel, I dream of burying you.”
She frowned, trying to understand his words. Why would he dream of—
“I dream that you are Jeremy lost and alone on a ship that sinks around you. I dream that you are one of the many women I have seen raped and murdered. Or worse, sold in the slave market. I see you brutalized, stabbed, even whipped by my own hand.” He swallowed. “Angel, is that love? Or madness?”
She didn’t know what to say. She had no words to soothe the terrible things that haunted him. So she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his shoulder where a burn had puckered the flesh. She moved then toward his neck, using her tongue to lave a small piece of beautiful, untouched skin, before quickly finding the top of a whip mark. She continued kissing him, pulling him closer to her as she pressed her lips to every scar she could reach. The back of his shoulder, the cuts beneath his arm, the lean cords that led down toward his hips. And then she could not reach farther so she slipped her fingers beneath his waistband and unbuttoned his pants.
He didn’t move during any of this. Not until his clothing was fully open and his organ pushed free. She brushed the cloth off his hips and down with one hand. With her other, she stroked him. Here was untouched skin, smooth, taut, and so hot she thought he might burn her hand.
“Lie back, angel,” he rasped.
She did, scooting upward on the bed until she lay before him. Her shift was long, covering her hips, and her stockings were tied beneath the hem. He climbed onto the bed beside her. While his eyes held hers, he gently took hold of the bottom hem and drew it slowly up her body. Inch by inch, she was revealed to him.
He tossed the shift aside without looking away. Then he leaned forward to kiss her lips. Slowly. Carefully. Barely even touching her with his tongue. It was as if he feared to hurt her. So she coiled her fingers into his hair, loving the silky feel of it against the back of her hand. She pulled him close. She opened her mouth and she began to thrust her tongue into him.
She felt his reaction immediately. His body tensed and his mouth went wild. He thrust into her, he stroked her. He took her mouth as she wanted him to take her body. Then he pulled away with a gasp.
“You have to be ready for me. It will hurt otherwise.”
She understood what he meant. She was the daughter of a doctor, after all. But knowledge and experience were two different things.
“Then make me ready for you,” she said with a smile.
His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. His hands went to her breasts—at last!—and he once again lifted and shaped them as she had come to love. His mouth descended next, biting at her nipples, before suckling, pulling in a rhythm that had her crying out in delight. Her heart was pounding, her skin felt as if it were on fire, and she arched on his bed as her blood began to heat.
He didn’t stop what he was doing to her breast. But one of his hands slid over her belly, steadily downward through her curls. She o
pened her legs. Indeed, they were already spread for him, but the feel of his finger pushing between her folds had her bucking. She cried out as he pressed hard against that wonderful place, and with her body lifting and lowering of its own accord, she felt that marvelous tension tighten. Then he pushed a finger inside her.
“Yes!” she gasped. “Please, Kit. More.” She couldn’t speak what she wanted. She couldn’t find the focus to say that a single finger wasn’t enough. That his tongue on her breast wasn’t enough. She wanted him. “Kit!” she cried as he pulled his finger out then pushed it back in. “Please, oh, please!”
She grabbed him then. She pulled his mouth from her breast so that she could look him in the eye. She had no words, just gasping hunger as he continued to stroke her. She shuddered, her belly impossibly tight. Her mind nearly shattered.
“I don’t care if you love me,” she gasped. “I don’t care. I love you.”
His hand stilled, his body froze, but hers did not. She whimpered as she pushed against his fingers. It felt so wonderful, and yet it wasn’t enough. “I love you,” she repeated. “Oh, Kit! I love—”
He moved on the bed, spreading her legs as he knelt between them. His hands wrapped her thighs as he lifted her up into position. “Again, Maddy!” he rasped. “Say it again!”
“I love you.”
He entered her. One slow, steady, thick invasion. She cried out at the size of him. The stretch of her flesh. Her back arched, and he kept pushing. There was an extra tightness, an extra resistance. Her breath suspended at the feel of it. He was not stopping. Slow, steady pressure, and then finally the resistance gave way. Her body opened fully and he moved all the way inside.
She looked at him. The cords of his neck were pulled tight and his lips were bared in a fierce growl. But his eyes were locked on hers, and he said one word: “Mine.”
“Yes.”
She saw his eyes mist with tears. She saw gratitude and awe flash through his expression. And then she watched as his mouth opened slowly. Lower down, he was withdrawing from inside her. A pull that had his eyes fluttering but not closing. She whimpered. She did not want him to leave. She had just gotten used to the fullness. She tightened her thighs around him. She reached forward to touch him. She could only reach his chest. His head was too far above her, so she stroked his chest. She touched his moon-shaped scar. And he pushed into her again.
His movement was faster this time, not so controlled. His breath was becoming more ragged, as was hers. She had been so close before with his fingers inside her. Now she felt the steady build again each time he seated himself fully.
Then he paused. She nearly cried out in frustration. She didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want—
His thumb pushed between them. He wasn’t careful, but she didn’t care. It was thick and hard and pressed exactly where she wanted. He pushed his thumb where she wanted, and he pulled it upward just enough to set her body to quivering. Once more—
Yes! Oh yes!
Sensations exploded through her body. Waves of pleasure drenched her and she willingly surrendered all to them. To him.
She felt him enter her again, harder. Faster. Again!
The waves crashed higher at his impacts. Once more.
Once more! Yes! He was shuddering inside her. Finally, he had surrendered.
He was hers!
Chapter 25
She made him talk. That was a marvel in itself, Kit thought, hours later. Once, long ago, it had not been so hard. Pleasant chitchat had flowed easily from his tongue. Polite nonsense, sweet nothings. He spoke glibly about anything of no consequence. But even then, his private thoughts were harder to access, and his pain—what little pain he knew in his life—was never discussed. He had been a man that spoke only nice things.
She got him to speak of pain. Of horror and death. Of imprisonment and, most surprising of all, the sweet moments beneath the pain. In seven years, there had been good moments. He had laughed in that time. And she got him to remember that as well.
He rolled over on his back, dislodging her from tracing the scars on his lower back. He was thick with lust for her again, but not so hard that he could not think. And as he looked up at her beautiful face, he became lost in her presence. Not her beauty. Taken inch by inch, she was lovely but not stunning. What stunned him was her quiet strength, her simple smile, and the awe-inspiring truth that she loved him.
She. Loved. Him. His scars, his pain, and his moods. And everything he said now did not shake her.
“Why aren’t you running from me? You should be frightened.”
“Why do you keep trying to get me to leave?” she countered. “First you run from me for six weeks, and now that you are back, you want me to leave. Why, Kit? What is so terrifying about me?”
“I have killed, Maddy.”
“Yes, and you have been beaten and seen horrible things. So why am I so terrifying?”
The answer trembled on the edge of his awareness. It was there, but he could not voice it. He could not even think it. “I don’t know,” he lied. The truth was that he was afraid to know. Afraid to look at his fears directly.
She smiled and snuggled down into the bed, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and held her close. He wanted to sink into her again, to seek the mindless oblivion of sex that was so much more with her. But she had been a virgin. It was too soon to take her again, and so he held off. And besides, it would soon grow light outside. He had to get her home.
“Don’t fall asleep, angel,” he said as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We need to get you to your bed.”
She lifted her head to stare at him. “But why?”
He laughed, the sound rough and painful in his throat. “To save your reputation.”
“But why? My virginity is gone. Uncle Frank is a day or so away from throwing me out on the street. Why bother saving something that will be lost in a few days time?”
He shifted, the mention of her uncle making him tense in ways that infuriated him. For the first time in seven years, he had felt at peace, and now one mention of that bastard was enough to push him upright on the bed.
“A lot can happen in a few days, Maddy. Your whole life can change.” As he spoke, he touched her face, wishing he had the words to explain what she had done for him. This one night of love and talk had made him feel whole again.
She rose to face him. They were both naked, but she had been covered by the sheet. Now it slid to her waist and her glorious breasts bobbed freely in front of him.
“I don’t want to go home. Though . . .” She sighed. “I do worry about what happened to Rose. I shouldn’t have just abandoned her.”
“She wasn’t abandoned. My brother would see that she got home safely.”
Her expression softened with gratitude. “Truly? Oh thank—”
Thump, thump! Her words were cut off by a loud banging at his door. “Open the door, you bastard!”
There was no mistaking that voice. “Uncle Frank!” Maddy cried, her eyes widening with horror.
Kit was on his feet in a second, a long knife in his fist. “Get dressed,” he ordered as he moved out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Then he was at his front door, standing just to the side as the bastard continued to bang.
“Open up or—”
In one fluid motion, Kit lurched open the door, hauled the man through, and then slammed him up against the wall. He pressed his blade directly to the bastard’s throat and waited in absolute silence to see whether he would kill the man now or wait until after Maddy had left.
The earl was larger than Kit, fully clothed, and he reeked of smoke and brandy. His eyes narrowed and he wanted to shove Kit away, but every time he twitched, Kit pushed the knife deeper against his neck.
“Get off me, you bastard! How dare y-y—” He sputtered to a halt as the knife drew blood.
“I would advise you to be very, very still, my lord,” Kit whispered against his ear. “I do not like middle-of
-the-night callers, and my hand is none too steady.”
But the earl proved that he was made of stern stuff. Or he was too inebriated to realize how much danger he was in. Either way, he glowered at Kit and spoke very softly.
“You have debauched my niece,” he hissed. “I will see you hang.”
“Really?” asked Maddy as she stepped out from the bedroom.
Inside, Kit flinched. He had meant to keep her a secret in there. At best, all he could do now was use his spare hand to quietly shut the main door. Meanwhile, Maddy was walking forward, her tone excruciatingly dry.
“And how would you have him hanged, Uncle? By your own words, you have been debauching me for the last year or more. He cannot sully what you have already destroyed.”
“I have not touched you!” spat her uncle.
“No, you merely ruined my reputation so quietly and so thoroughly that no decent man would have me.” She came to stand directly before her uncle, and her hand lightly skimmed along Kit’s back. “No one, that is, but Mr. Frazier.”
Kit felt his muscles ripple beneath her caress. He was the only one standing naked here, but he was the one with the weapon and the skill to use it. Then her fingers slid along his arm to the back of his hand where he gripped the knife.
“Perhaps I should hold this while you get dressed,” she suggested.
“It is the only thing keeping him from hauling you away by your hair and raping you as you scream your innocence. He is an earl, Maddy. And he is much larger than you.”
“Hmmm,” she returned, pretending to think, and Kit marveled at how calm she appeared. Most gently reared women would be having hysterics. “Uncle, I have twice before stopped Mr. Frazier from killing you. This time will make it a third. I trust you understand that even were you to drag me out by my hair, he would find you. And nothing on Earth will stop him then.”
The earl’s eyes widened at her words, but the man’s arrogance knew no bounds. A moment later, he pressed his lips together in a sneer. “He would not dare.”
Now it was Kit’s turn to speak. He leaned in, whispering so Maddy would not hear. The memories were so close already, it was a simple thing to start relaying—in graphic detail—the ways he had learned to kill a man. And when the earl was sweating, he finally pulled back and spoke loud enough for Maddy to hear.
